Deny Thy Father
by wildblueyonder6
Summary: John, Sam, Dean and Jamie  OC AU  Winchester  -Jamie has a secret and Winchesters aren't the communicative type.  Parental spanking please don't read if this offends you. I own nothing. Not getting paid


Title: Deny Thy Father  
>Genre: Gen, PG 13<br>Characters: John, Sam, Dean and Jamie Winchester  
>Summary: Jamie has a secret and Winchesters aren't the communicative type.<br>Disclaimer: I own nothing. I just like playing with the boys. No beta, all mistakes are my own. Help a girl out if you notice something.

XXX

John Winchester walked along the fence heading toward the house. It was late October but still warm in the way that Texas could sometimes be. There was a deep feeling of contentment as he studied the little gray farmhouse that he and the boys had made a home. It wasn't much, but it was theirs. The house. The land. It bothered him a bit that he hadn't done it for his boys but instead his grandson, however sometimes things worked out that way. Sometimes it took someone else to push you into a decision that maybe you should have made a long time ago. John abruptly shut down that train of thought. Second-guessing his actions was not something he often did. The Marine in him had no problem with regrouping or falling back, but wishing you had fought a battle differently was counter productive. Just like he told the boys growing up, the only real good reason for a mistake was to learn from it.

John liked to think that maybe he had.

John furrowed his brow at his grandson's truck that was still parked out front on the crush and run driveway. It was Friday and the kid had a girl. The boy's Fridays were spent doing what young men do when trying to impress a new girlfriend. Movies, pizza or occasional trips into the closest big town to walk the mall and hang out with other friends. John smiled to himself; some things never change. John headed closer to the house and was surprised to hear his son's voice angry and loud.

"Well, you just bought yourself a weeks worth of grounding, young man."

Young man? Dean must be really pissed. He'd hated those words as a kid and very seldom said it to his son.

"You can't do that! I have plans! Plans that don't entail sitting in this shitty house while my girl's at home."

John cocked his head at the sounds coming from the screen door. Jamie must be really pissed as well. John eyed up the tidy gray farmhouse. It wasn't the Taj Mahal, but the place was a hell of a lot better than shitty.

"Well I can and I did! You've got one phone call, buddy so I'd make sure it is to her to tell her that she's on her own from now 'till next Saturday."

"That's not grounding, that's lockdown! You mean I can't even talk on the phone! Nobody I know has to deal with this kind of dictatorship! Not even JR! His father is the fucking sheriff! Who in the hell, grounds a kid for a week on Friday, anyway? That means I have TWO Fridays to be without Rebecca!"

"Well, it's good to hear your math skills are still up to date and that you have a handle on the calendar too, 'cause you might as well just draw a red line through it from now 'till then!" Dean bellowed, his voice strained, "And you better watch your mouth! I'm gonna skip the old 'wash your mouth out with soap' and go straight to a bottle of bleach!" John quirked his head – _bleach?_ Whatever the fight was about, Dean was threatening death by poison. John couldn't help but grin just a bit – _little melodramatic, son. _ John heard the pounding of feet up the steps and the door slamming to Jamie's room. His son continued his tirade, "You slam that door one more time and I'll take it off the hinges!" John heard Jamie's door open, it squeaked and had since they had bought the house. No amount of WD40 had eliminated it. Then he heard it shut. Purposefully hard but not slammed. Oh, the kid was pushing his luck. He son roared, the very epitome of pissed off father, "Your ass better not come out of that room tonight, unless you gotta take a piss!" So the kid was not only grounded, he was restricted to his quarters.

Things were going from bad to worse in the Winchester household.

John stopped on the porch, his hips settled on the porch railing for the inevitable thundercloud that was Dean Winchester. The screen door banged so hard it bounced in the wooden frame three times. Dean almost collided with his father, but brought himself up at the last moment, bright green eyes roiling with anger.

"I'm gonna kill him. "

"Don't you think are ought to consider the ramifications of that, son?"

Dean seemed to process the question with lightening quick speed, "You're right, it's too easy on him. I'm gonna kick his ass, then I'm gonna kill him."

John chuckled low, "Dean, son," John's voice was low and soothing, "How about you take a minute or two to get your blood pressure down." He gestured to the Adirondack chairs that graced the front porch.

"Are you…are you trying to _handle_ me?" Dean asked incredulously. John eyed up his son. The kid exuded adrenalin, almost as if he'd just taken out a nest of vamps.

"Yeah, I suppose I am. Why don't you take a walk?" The words were calm and phrased as a suggestion but there was just a hint of steel in his voice, one that made it clear it was really an order. Dean took a deep breath, blew it out slowly and nodded his head.

"Yeah. A walk. Not a bad idea." John watched as Dean headed down toward the barn, body stiff with anger.

John lifted his voice a bit to let it carry through the yard. "Hey, Dean. Where's your brother?"

Dean didn't bother to turn his head just muttered tightly. "In town."

John shook his head once and headed in the house to do a little damage control.

XXX

With all the commotion going on a moment ago, the kitchen seemed strangely quiet. John headed to the stairs stopping for a moment to hear the hushed tones of Jamie on his cell to someone. Probably Rebecca. After years of fatherhood and then grand fatherhood John figured he had the right to a little stealth. Spying on your kids was never really spying. It was more like recon. He padded softly up the stairs avoiding stair seven, the creaky one that always gave you away.

Truthfully, he didn't even have to be all that stealthy. Jamie was still fired up and you could hear it in his voice. Besides, the kid was no dummy. He'd heard his father leave the house. _Everyone had heard him leave the house. _

"Rebecca, babe. I'm sorry, really. He's acting like a class A dick."

John arched an eyebrow at that. His oldest had been called a dick before - that was nothing new, but hearing it come from his grandson was something he hadn't heard. He briefly wondered how many times Sam and Dean had called him a dick. John grimaced when he realized it was probably more than he cared to know about.

"Yeah, well, I'm gonna see what I can do. He's got me on house arrest, but I've snuck out before, I can do it again.

That almost sent John into the room, except that sometimes recon meant holding your position and waiting for the enemy to show their hand.

John decided not to act on it.

"Rebecca, I'll be there. I promise. " His grandson sounded determined. The kind of determined that John had heard before. The kind of Winchester determination that could be either a good thing or a bad thing.

"Yeah, love you too. Seeya."

John waited a moment then allowed his boot to scuff the floor, _that should be enough_. Then a brief rap on Jamie's door. He didn't want to wait for the invite, right now he was agreeing with his son – maybe an ass kicking was in store for Jamie but he decided to opt for the conservative route of parental intervention. See if the boy was gonna hang himself.

"Yeah."

John opened the door; he couldn't help the glower that crossed his face.

"You need to talk to him, Gramps. Dad's gone off the chain." Jamie was standing near his bed glowering himself.

John tried to pretend he hadn't heard the earlier exchange, breathed deeply. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"

"I dunno. I've been a little late for curfew. Which is stupid if you think about it. I'm seventeen. Who the hell has a curfew when you are seventeen? Dad was on his own most of the time when he was seventeen."

"Wait a minute, Jamie. Your dad did have a lot of responsibility when he was seventeen, but he had rules to follow and yeah, believe it or not he had curfews." John didn't add that he wasn't always there to make sure that Dean followed through with them, but that was neither here nor there.

"Yeah, like Dad had to be home by nine o'clock on a school night? Seventeen, Gramps. And that is only after homework and chores are done and blah, blah, blah, blah."

John thought about it for a moment, "To be truthful, I didn't even like the boys going out at nights at all, so yeah, he was home most of the time – watching Sam."

"Most of the time, not all of the time – that's just it - the man is so," Jamie searched for a word, "Uncompromising."

"I think growing up your Dad would have found a word tougher for me than uncompromising."

Jamie huffed once, a sound that seemed so typically teenage that John almost smiled. "Gramps, kids miss curfews all the time, their parents don't ground them for a week because of it."

John thought of his boys, they'd gotten worse for less sometimes. But things were different now and the stakes weren't as high anymore. Dean wasn't usually so strict – he looked carefully at his grandson. "So, that's it. Nothing else?"

Jamie shifted uneasily, "Well, there's old man Harbaugh."

"Your English teacher?"

"Yeah, he hates me."

"Jamie, I've met that man. He's a hardass and grant you, I wouldn't want him for English but he doesn't hate you. " John stopped suddenly worried, "What did you do?"

"Jeese, Gramps, why do you think I did something? "

John leveled Jamie a look. The Look.

John should probably not have been so satisfied to see that he still had enough parental mojo to make Jamie drop his fiery gaze.

"Okay, it's not what I did, it's what I didn't do. Just a couple of assignments. Skipped a few classes. Shakespeare is so fu – freaking boring. Gramps. Thous and thees and words that nobody uses. I hate it."

"So what, everybody hates Shakespeare. Deal with it. Not turning in assignments, bowing out on classes Jamie? You know better than that. That's just stupid."

"Yeah, well I think the assignments are stupid. Give me something important like math or science, hell even creative writing but Shakespeare is ridiculous and I told Harbaugh I'm not gonna do the dumb ass papers and that his class sucked. He had to make a big stink about it. Called it insubordination and sent me to see Mr. Marin. Then Marin called Dad and well, here I am."

"You're only grounded? I would say your father should kick your ass, but there won't be any ass left after your Uncle Sam gets through with you."

Jamie snorted.

"Gramps. I need to see Rebecca." There was a small plea in Jamie's voice.

John held up his hand, "That's enough, Jamie. You should've thought of your girlfriend before you started to take a stand about something as foolish as refusing to do required school work. There are rules in this house, you know them, and you've known them all along. Be thankful all you have right now is being stuck in this house for a week."

"Well, that's fu…"

John stepped closer to Jamie, closed the distance between them within a split second. "You better be awful careful what that next word is, boy." He drilled the boy hard with his eyes. "Are we clear on this?"

Jamie straightened his shoulders. "Crystal."

John decided to let the boy's posture imply his deference.

Seventeen seemed an eternity ago but he remembered it well. He remembered a piss and vinegar boy roaring into manhood. He remembered his first girlfriend and trying to be grown up. He remembered getting his ass handed to him by his father more than once for his attitude too. Tough age seventeen. But John wasn't his father. Hell, he wasn't even the same man he was when his boys were kids.

"You've only yourself to blame for this, Jamie. Curfews can be negotiated but school is a given. You better toe the line this week, take your punishment and use the time wisely to get caught up on schoolwork. Comprende?"

John held his grandson's eyes, brilliant green to dark brown. He figured the boy got it; there would be no rendezvous with little Rebecca tonight, despite his earlier promise to the girl.

"Yes, sir. Understood." Jamie stood almost at attention and then relaxed just a bit. "Gramps, are we done here? I gotta hit the head." John nodded briefly and stepped to the side allowing Jamie to walk out of his room.

Between Dean and Jamie, it was gonna be a long week.

XXX

Dean came back from his walk a little calmer if not exactly Zen-like and John counted that as a win. His son stood on the porch with a cup of coffee and surveyed their front lawn.

"I oughta fix that gate."

John looked in the direction of the aforementioned gate. "Yeah, it could use a tweak or two. I doubt that's on the top of your mind right now though."

Dean turned and smiled at his father. Just a slow grin but it was good to see nonetheless.

"I know I said I'd kill him, but maybe he's gonna kill me first."

"No one ever said it was gonna be easy."

"Yeah, but I helped raise Sammy. Sammy never did stuff like this."

"Well, he never screwed up his English homework but he ignored curfew a few times. You did too if I remember straight."

"Yeah, and you tore me a new one."

John nodded. "Yup, if you didn't have a good reason."

"Well, Jamie's reason is a girl named Rebecca."

"Christ, Dean, your reason was_ every girl_. At least Jamie has a steady girlfriend. You were horn dogging it with every girl who crossed your path. Give the kid a little bit of credit for that at least."

"Well, I'm not so sure a steady girl is good for Jamie. At least not one that makes him screw up in school and miss curfew routinely. I mean, Dad, I know he's just a kid and I don't wanna make things hard for him, but he's got responsibilities, to this family and to himself. Unfortunately for him, one of the most important ones is school."

John sipped his own coffee. "Maybe you're right about this girl, maybe not - but Jamie's gonna have to work some of that out himself. Giving him an ultimatum about who he can date and who he can't date is gonna blow up in your face."

Dean all but spit out his coffee on that one, "Christ Dad, all you did was give out ultimatums. "

John bristled a bit, "I didn't give out ultimatums."

Dean smiled just a little. "You're right Dad. Ultimatum implies a choice of some kind. A shitty choice but still a choice."

John smiled then too. "Yeah, well it never worked when it came to girls. Or friends for that matter. When did I ever say you couldn't hang around with somebody?"

John watched as Dean thought for a moment. "You didn't like that waitress in Tampa."

"Jesus, Dean, she was forty two!"

"Since when do you discriminate against someone just 'cause they are a little long in the tooth?"

John could barely contain himself, "And you were fifteen!"

Dean nodded thoughtfully, "Point taken. What about Sergei Patrofsky?"

"Sergei's father was in the Russian mafia! That is all we needed, to have you caught up with the Russian mafia. Besides, you didn't like Sergei you just wanted get in the pants of his sister…what was her name?"

"Nadya," Dean said a little too quickly and then wistfully took a sip of his coffee. "Now that was some Russian I would have been more than happy to study."

John couldn't help the subtle growl in his voice. "So these are your examples of my inflexibility with you and your friends? A pedophile in Tampa and the son of a Russian mafia Don? Yeah, well, you're right I did forbid you to hang with them and what did you do?"

Dean smiled at the memory. "Oh, I hung with them alright. That Tampa waitress was pretty damn sexy for an old chick but ohh Nadya. I think it was all of that Russian blood running through her veins. She sure knew how to keep a boy warm at night."

"Dean! And what happened?"

Dean toggled his head to the right, caught up in his youthful indiscretions. "Well, I didn't know that the diner's fry cook was the waitress' husband and I suppose I should be kind of appreciative that all he did was kick my ass out, using that big old industrial spatula as a paddle." He grinned and John was sure he was thinking about dodging the pizza sized metal paddle, but then Dean continued on, "Sergei almost broke my nose when he found me in the backseat of the Impala with his sister but he wasn't counting on my Winchester fighting ability. His daddy might have been in the Russian mafia but Sergei didn't know a damn thing about hand to hand. " Dean stopped for a moment indulging in the memory. "And speaking of hands, I think you wore yours out on my ass that night. Plus I had to detail the Impala and for the record, Dad…blood is never all that easy to get out of leather."

John pinched his nose, determined not to let Dean make him crazy this late in the game. "The point is, Dean. Sometimes forbidding a kid to do something just makes him do the opposite. Especially if there is a girl involved. Take my lack of positive results as a lesson learned. If you tell Jamie, he can't see Rebecca, it's just gonna make the forbidden fruit that much sweeter. Grounding him is right. He needs to know that just because he's a big boy now, it doesn't mean he can do what he wants when he wants. But if you make Rebecca off limits, you might just be shooting yourself in the foot."

Dean nodded and John wasn't sure exactly what he was nodding about, the grounding or the lecture on parenting but he figured it was a step in the right direction.

Dean took a deep breath and seemed to come to a decision.

"Hey, Dad. Are you all right handling babysitting duty? Sam called from town while I was on that dad-imposed sabbatical and he's got a lead over in Clarksville. It's probably nothing, but you know how things seem to go for us when we split up…" Dean lets those words out with just a bit of embarrassment. It's true, the boys always hunted better together and really John raised them to be a team so it shouldn't have shocked him in the least. Besides, getting Dean out of the house might allow him to talk to Jamie. "We should be back in a day or two. " Dean eyed his father up; maybe he realized that John was thinking of talking to the kid. "Don't let him convince you to let him get released for good behavior."

John grinned. "I've been through seventeen before, three different times. By now I kinda got a handle on teenage boys and testosterone. Really Dean, there ain't nothing Jamie can throw at me that I can't handle. Go ahead kiddo, I got it here. Make sure you break it easy to Sam that his nephew is an educational ingrate who actually decided to take a stand against the classics in general and Shakespeare in specific."

Dean laughed then, "I'll try to sneak it in the conversation carefully. I so do not wanna be my kid when Sammy gets back."

John quirked a brow at his son but allowed a smile to play on his face.

"Go on, get on out of here. Come back safe."

"Yes, sir."

John watched as his oldest went back in the house with a bit more spring in his step.

The kid always did love a new hunt.

XXX

John leaned into the fridge, holding it open and looking for a midnight snack. It was something his own dad never failed to walk by and cuff him for. He remembered yelling at the boys himself about air conditioning the whole damn house.

But he did it anyway.

It was kind of nice to be old and not have to answer to anyone but yourself. John settled on a cold meatloaf sandwich, with catsup and a glass of milk. He felt pretty sure his morning would be filled with indigestion, but damn, Dean made a fine meatloaf.

Halfway through the sandwich and a quarter way through the milk he heard a sound outside. Just a scrape on the side of the house, but John hadn't spent a lifetime of hunting not to recognize an unfamiliar sound outside. But he wasn't on a hunt right now and his gun was upstairs. He cursed himself for being a fool, for thinking that there was no reason to keep a loaded gun in the kitchen, but John was nothing if not enterprising and he headed for Jamie's baseball bat, carelessly leaning up against the wall in the little mud room off the kitchen. He said a silent prayer then to his thoughtless, irresponsible, shoulda put his shit away, grandson and grabbed the bat, holding it close to his side and he slowly opened the door. Another silent prayer hit the ether because the WD40 that never worked on Jamie's bedroom door had worked beautifully on the screen door and it opened with out a sound.

Armed with nothing more than a baseball bat, barefooted and with flannel pajama bottoms and a soft cotton t-shirt, John Winchester prepared to kick the ass of whoever was skulking around his house. He hefted the solid wood baseball bat; the boy never did like the aluminum bats favored by most of his team. Yes, it would do just fine.

And there by the back of the house he saw a shadow creeping around the trellis. He swung the bat, taking another step just to put a little more power into the swing. Unfortunately, his bare foot landed on Jamie's upended baseball cleats that had not even made it to the mudroom.

Now John would never have admitted at the time that he screamed like a girl, but later he might have just admitted that he had howled manfully as the sharpened cleats punctured a neat little pattern on the sole of his foot. It didn't stop the forward momentum of the baseball bat, but it did give the potential recipient of said baseball bat a split second to dodge which caused the bat to swing harmlessly over his head into the plate glass window.

John was already moving in for the kill shot when he heard his grandson's startled shout of, "GRAMPS!"

John checked himself mid swing and the bat stopped six inches from his newly acquired target - Jamie Winchester.

XXX

John couldn't remember ever being so mad. He was quite sure he had been before, there had been many occasions in his life to be angry but right now he couldn't think of one of them. It might be because he almost gave his grandson a migraine of epic proportions; then again, it could be the shattered glass window in the dining room. Of course, a part of it had to do with the blood trail he was leaving as he shoved his grandson through the mudroom into the kitchen.

John limped heavily over to the kitchen first aid kit, thankful now that there had been no gun in the kitchen but almost as happy that he insisted on more than one kit. Barn, bathroom, garage and yes, kitchen. He opened the kit quickly, grabbing a handful of 4x4s, antibacterial ointment, saline, tape and gauze.

"Let me give you a hand, Gramps. Puncture wounds can be kind of nasty."

John leveled Jamie a look that should have melted the boy's eyes right out of his head. Instead the kid kept looking at him more concerned with the amount of blood dripping all over the kitchen than his own personal health. John figured the kid would change his mind soon enough.

"I don't need a hand." John sat in the kitchen chair, carefully propping his injured right foot over his uninjured left thigh. He groaned a little as his right hip protested the unnatural yoga like posed it forced him into and poured the saline over his punctured right foot. It sluiced onto the kitchen floor a pinkish trail of water that started a tiny river. Jamie quickly grabbed paper towels, slapping a handful down to stop the flow. He squatted in front of his grandfather's holey foot making sure the paper towels carefully dammed up the saline and blood.

John liberally smeared the holes with antibiotic cream and then applied direct pressure to the punctures. He fucking hated punctures and it was gonna be hard as hell to keep his damn foot from getting infected.

"Did it ever occur to you to clean up your shit?"

Jamie studied the ground and the neat little paper towel damn. "I forgot about them, sorry. But don't you always say you shouldn't go around barefoot – especially at night."

John looked at Jamie. If he hadn't been so busy bandaging up his injured foot, he probably would have taken said foot and kicked the boy in the ass.

"Did it occur to you that the reason I was running around barefoot with a baseball bat at 0130 is because my seventeen year old grandson was either sneaking back in after being grounded, or sneaking out after being grounded?" John wrapped the gauze around his foot and slapped some tape over it – tight enough to keep the pressure on. "Get me my goddamned slippers!" He roared and Jamie took off, heading for his grandfather's bedroom far faster than John had ever seen him round third base.

John leaned back on the chair, the throbbing in his foot matching the throbbing in his head.

Dean wasn't gonna to kill Jamie. Nope. John was gonna kill Jamie. Briefly he thought about how he was going to break it to Dean, that he had killed his only son. Dean would be understandably upset, but when he heard the full reasoning behind it, he would agree.

It would be justified.

Jamie slid into the kitchen, holding his grandfather's slippers and his expression as contrite as he could be.

John didn't care.

He grabbed his slippers, installing them one at a time, first over his newly ventilated right foot first and then his good left foot. He stood and tentatively he put weight on his right foot and was relieved to find he could walk on it. John stood as solid as his gimpy right foot would let him and stared long and hard at Jamie.

"I thought we had an understanding, Jamie. We did have an understanding didn't we?"

Jamie dropped his head, shaggy russet hair so reminiscent of Sam that John almost took a double take.

"Yes, sir." Jamie mumbled. Jamie usually didn't mumble.

"Come again?"

This time Jamie snapped his head up. "Yes, sir," His face was crimson with embarrassment, anger or some other deep emotion. The boy could never keep a blush down if he got himself fired up about something. But the words were clear.

"But it was important. I figured you'd understand. Dad doesn't understand but you should." Jamie spoke quietly but with conviction.

John sighed and let his own anger ease off just a bit.

"How about you explain it to me?"

Jamie shuffled a bit on the kitchen floor, shoved the now saturated saline/blood dam off to the side.

"No, sir."

For the second time in as many minutes John queried, "Come again?"

He kind of felt like a parrot, or some kind of broken record, but it was the only thing he could think of to say. Did Jamie just refuse to tell him something?

Once again Jamie looked his grandfather in the eye. "No, sir."

John shook his head still not certain that Jamie had actually refused to answer his question. Maybe the boy thought it was a kindly asked question, like…would you please pass the potatoes? Maybe he didn't see it for the order that it was? Because that was the only conceivable reason for refusing to do something John Winchester told someone to do.

"Okay, let's rephrase. I want to know why you felt the need to climb out of a window at one o'clock in the morning to meet your girlfriend when both your father and I told you that you were to stay in."

"I'd rather not say."

It was true; the boy had lost his mind.

He had just refused to answer a direct question. Politely yes, but nevertheless Jamie Winchester had just told his grandfather that he was NOT going to do something that John told him he was going to do.

Defiance did not go down well with John. It never had. A simple trip down memory lane to a night many years ago when Sam had defied his father had resulted in one of the worse fights they had ever had. It had been ugly and brutal but John was sure he hadn't been all wrong. He regretted a lot about that night but Sam's attitude had set the tone for every thing that followed. Sam's stubbornness had instigated the fight; John's stubbornness had perpetuated it. It had been a hard lesson to learn, but despite reports to the contrary, John Winchester was trainable. He could learn if it was important enough. His family was important enough. John would never allow himself to push away someone he loved like that again. He would never send Jamie, Dean, or Sam for that matter, packing over an issue like defiance.

But he was also not willing to overlook it either.

"Get your butt upstairs and ready for bed. I'll be there in ten and your ass better be in your room."

Jamie shot off like an arrow, bounding up the stairs three at a time.

John sat down at the kitchen table, looking at the half eaten sandwich and glass of milk.

Suddenly he wished for something a lot stronger.

XXX

John sat for a good ten minutes in the dim light of the kitchen before he came to a decision. Jamie was in trouble and John was gonna spank him. Not for the defiance, although, he sorely wanted to. He wanted to walk into Jamie's room and tell him point blank, "Don't you ever, ever EVER tell me that you will not follow an order I give you." He would have for Sam or Dean. He wouldn't have even given them the opportunity to get to bed; he would have bent them over the kitchen table and walloped the hell out of them. It would have been over by now, so swift and sure would the retribution have been delivered.

But Jamie was his grandson. And John was a wiser man than he had been once. Whatever reason Jamie had for keeping quiet, it was his to keep. John trusted the boy to tell him when he could.

XXX

John entered Jamie's room through the open door. Jamie sat on the bed, sleep pants and a t-shirt, head bowed in the half-light of his bedroom. He looked about as dejected as a kid could be, but that was to be expected.

"How do you want me, Gramps?" The kid looked up at John and for a moment, John almost couldn't go through with it. All of the puppy dog looks that Sammy shot him or the stoic pre-spanking Dean expressions gave had never seemed to faze him. But Jamie almost pulled it off.

John sat down not too far from Jamie and gestured toward his lap. "This'll be fine."

With a sigh, Jamie stood. "Up or down?"

"Up's okay."

A moment later the teen was laying across his lap. "Jamie, I'm so disappointed. First the curfews, the lack of respect to your teacher, the lack of respect for your family and your steadfast resolve to not do something that your school requires. And it's not like its some kind of moral issue like you are dissecting frogs – it's Shakespeare." John shook his head; he truly did not understand what was going through the kid's mind. "Then when your father appropriately grounds you, you sneak out in the middle of the night to meet your girlfriend. Something we _talked about _tonight. Specifically. Did you really think it would not come to this?"

Jamie swallowed hard. "No, I figured you would find out. I mean, I was hoping you wouldn't - I expected you to be in bed. I should have counted on you raiding the refrigerator for Dad's meatloaf. It's not an excuse. I'm sorry."

John noticed that despite the boy's obvious heartfelt apology, he did not say that he wouldn't have done it, just that the timing wasn't the best. And really, if John replayed the words in his head, he thought the boy had just apologized for not realizing that John might decide to have a midnight snack. The kid was gonna sneak out no matter what.

John figured he was gonna tan his ass no matter what too.

And with that he did. Over the sleep pants, hard and fast. John was good at spanking; he had a lot of practice with it over the years. It was a skill that you wouldn't want on your resume but then John didn't have a resume anyway. Hand spanking was always kind of personal and regardless of how much it hurt the spankee, there was always the sting in the hand of the spanker. If you were good, it hurt the kid more than it hurt the grownup. John always wondered about that stupid saying, it's gonna hurt me a lot more than it hurts you.

Because that was hogwash. Spankings hurt. They were meant to hurt and John made sure that this one did. Jamie remained quiet though most of it, but John knew he was crying, silent tears to be sure, but they were there. That wasn't like Jamie either. The kid could really yell when getting his ass walloped. No one expected him to be quiet and he usually wasn't. John stopped, shook his stinging hand hard and reached down to pull the kid up. That was when Jamie cried. Deep sobs that wet John's t-shirt. John just held him tight and let him go. They had all the time in the world.

"M' sorry, Gramps." It was muffled in John's shirt but audible.

"Shhh, Jamie. Whatever is going on, we can figure it out." He rocked the boy, just a soothing sway and crooned low, his voice a gentle rumble and then pressed a kiss to his damp hair. "It'll be alright, kiddo."

Jamie sniffed hard then pulled away, eyes red and nose snotty. He looked all of six right then and John didn't care. He handed the kid a Kleenex then smiled when Jamie gestured to John's wet shirt.

"I have other shirts. Plus you are on laundry duty this week. Not my problem."

Jamie snuffled a quick laugh, blew his nose and the scooted off his grandfather's lap.

"Don't ya think I'm to old to be cuddled?"

"Not really, you are a bit heavy but I think I can manage." John stood then reached over to Jamie and pulled him into another brief hug. Then he stepped toward the bedroom door. He couldn't help the slight groan when his perforated right foot landed square on the floor.

"You know, I should've spanked you for leaving your damn cleats in the middle of the side yard too."

Jamie grinned. "Yeah, but that wasn't part of the pre-spanking speech so I get a reprieve for that."

John canted his head toward the boy, stifled a laugh of his own.

"I don't recall a Winchester rule that says, just because I didn't mention it prior to the ass whipping, you get absolution for the misdeed."

"It totally is, Gramps. Ask Uncle Sam. He'll tell you." Then with a woeful sound Jamie ran his hand through his hair. "Uncle Sam – I forgot about him. He's gonna kill me for sure."

John ruffled Jamie's hair. "I'll talk to your uncle, see what I can do to calm his educationally overwrought self down. I'm not saying you are getting out of the assignments Jamie, but maybe I can get him to overlook your lapse in Shakespearean judgment."

"Thanks, Gramps."

John dropped his voice a notch. "Go on Jamie, hit the rack. It's 2am and your grandfather wants to finish his snack and get to bed."

"Yes, sir."

John hobbled to the bedroom door, waited for Jamie to get into bed and then turned out the light.

"Good night, Jamie."

"Night, Gramps."

XXX

John made his way slowly down the stairs and back into the kitchen. The sandwich was still on the plate but the milk was lukewarm.

It was okay. Someone once said that warm milk helped you go to sleep.

XXX

The boys came back two days later at the ass crack of dawn, a little worse for wear. Sam had a carefully steri-stripped slice over his left eye, courtesy of a flying toaster and Dean's right ribs were mottled purple down to his hip.

Neither seemed particularly ready to explain their injuries, but debrief was protocol, even more so because John had not been there. There were some sheepish expressions when they both admitted to expecting a single ghost needing a salt and burn but found out it was more of a clan. John grumbled low about Sam's lack of research and Dean's lack of preparation. Then there was the standard Winchester dress down with wordslike_ idiot _and_ moron_ and _you are lucky you two didn't get yourselves killed_. John carefully examined their injuries, satisfied that each was as well tended to as could be expected. It was then that Dean, ever the observant one, made a crack about John's limping movements around the kitchen table and John made his own confession. Dean had huffed, eyes sparkling with humor, maybe Dad hadn't been as prepared to handle a seventeen year old as he should have been. For a moment John felt indignant but then realized it was probably true. They hashed it out over some coffee and a few aspirin while Jamie slumbered. John admitted too that Jamie hadn't budged on talking about Rebecca and that whatever he was holding on to, he was keeping close to his vest. Despite the fact that Sam should have been spitting fire and grumbling about his lackadaisical nephew, he oddly enough wasn't. He just sat and drank coffee and swallowed some cinnamon toast. John wasn't sure what to make of it but he sure hoped that whatever was going through Sammy's brain didn't involve decapitation of Jamie, or maybe some other type of torture, because the kid was just starting to be able to sit comfortably.

XXX

Sam had always been good with research. In spite of the latest fiasco on this past hunt, it had always been his forte. And so when he heard about Jamie's out right defiance, his sudden hatred of English and his apparent lack of personal regard for his own ass he naturally started to research. Jamie Winchester might be a little on the wild side but the boy had been on the receiving end of enough physical parental instruction to know that avoiding it was paramount in his life. For him to stand toe-to-toe with John Winchester, knowing that he was writing his own death warrant, that just didn't make any sense.

XXX

Sam tapped on the door jam to Jamie's door. It was partially open and he could see Jamie laying on his bed. The kid had a book of Shakespeare's sonnets in his hands and even from his vantage point at the door, Sam could see the boy was barely keeping his eyes open.

"C'mon in Uncle Sam."

Sam stepped into the room and settled his considerable weight on Jamie's bed. Jamie shut his book with determination and sat up straighter.

"So, now that you are home, are you gonna kick my ass too?" Jamie didn't sound belligerent, just matter of fact.

"Why? Do you want me to?" Sam queried.

Jamie eyed Sam critically. "No, not particularly, but I figure I got it coming so knock your socks off."

Sam grinned. "Do you really think I'd enjoy wailing on that hard Winchester ass?"

"No. But then again, I figure your plenty mad about the Shakespeare shit, and not turning in assignments, skipping class, back chatting to Harbaugh and a trip to the principle office, so yeah, I don't want it and I doubt you wanna whup me either but you being you and me being me. Well, I figure it's a done deal."

"Now, Jamie. When have I always been so inflexible?"

"Uncle Sam, when it comes to school when have you not?"

"Touché"

Sam sat for another uncomfortable minute. "How about we talk instead."

Jamie cocked a suspicious eye at Sam. "What do you wanna talk about?"

"Let's start with you and Rebecca."

"Sorry, Sam, I don't kiss and tell."

Sam snorted then, a deep bark that rolled into a hearty laugh. "Trust me, Jamie. Having had your father as a brother, I do not want to hear more sexual exploits than I have already been subjected to through the years."

"Okay, than what?"

"What's with the midnight meetings? The secretive outings and the overall strangeness. Why did you face the wrath of John Winchester when he asked you why in the hell you snuck out of the house? 'Cause Jamie – boy, I have stood in those exact shoes and I gotta tell ya, no matter how you slice it - pissed off Dad is a flavor of Winchester that no one wants to taste. " Sam waited for Jamie's reply and when none was offered he prompted gently. "Jamie, some answers please."

Maybe it was the quiet of the request or maybe just because it _was_ a request but Jamie, sniffed hard once and leaned into his uncle. Sam automatically wrapped himself around Jamie. Jamie cried then, not the deep wracking sobs of the other night but he cried hard. Sam didn't move just held the kid until he was done. Jamie pulled away. "God, I'm such a pussy, you haven't even laid a hand on me and I'm cryin' like a little girl." Sam kept his arm around his nephew. "How about you let me be the judge of your girliness. Talk to me, kid."

"It's Rebecca."

"I figured as much."

"Well, not really Rebecca but her family. They hate me, Uncle Sam. I swear, I haven't done a damn to have them hate me. I 'yes, sir and 'yes ma'am'. I've never brought her home late. I always make sure I'm wearing clean jeans and I hold the door for her _and_ her momma. I don't know why they can't stand me. I'm beginning to think it's just cause their last name is Vanderhaven and they have a house in Dallas and one in Palm Beach and more old money than we could count. I think they think I'm just not good enough for Rebecca. I don't know how to fix who I am." Jamie had never looked so dejected. "So, lately, to avoid her family, we've been sneaking out at night, me breaking curfew and her doing the same. It's not right but at least we can hang out a bit. She has free period, when I have English so I sometimes cut. I'm sorry, Uncle Sam but Shakespeare sucks and Harbaugh is a dick and it is one of the only times I get to be with my girl."

Sam nodded. It made sense now. "Well, I don't know what her family is looking for when they think of a boyfriend for their girl, but Jamie, they couldn't find a better kid than you. Maybe we could talk to them, meet with them in some swanky restaurant. We could pull out the ties and everything. Show them that we may not be made of money but that Rebecca has good taste and maybe they should trust her judgment."

"You think that might work?" Jamie looked doubtful.

"Well, it might and even if it doesn't it is a stepping stone. Parents can be a little overprotective with their kids. It will be good for them to see that me and Dean and Dad are decent folks and I promise, I'll make sure Gramps and your father are on their best behavior. Maybe if Rebecca's folks realize you aren't some kind of illiterate ingrate, they will give you a chance." Jamie nodded, a relieved look on his face. "Speaking of illiterate ingrate, take a look at this." Sam handed over the book he had brought in the room. Jamie glanced at the cover and rolled his eyes. "Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliette. You've got to be kidding?"

"Nope, consider it an additional reading assignment. Penance in place of the ass kicking you should've gotten for refusing to do your homework."

Sam tapped it once. "Remember when you read this, I'm not advocating teen suicide, this is a tragedy. But defying your parents for something you believe in, isn't really a bad idea." Sam tapped Jamie's chest then. "You've got a heart that's big enough and brains that are smart enough. Sometimes sticking up for what you know is right is a hard thing to do. I'm proud of you for that. You may not have done it in the best way possible, but you did it for the right reasons."

Jamie blushed, Sam knew the kid didn't like too much praise but sometimes he needed to hear it. Jamie coughed once.

"Thanks Uncle Sam."

"Anytime, kiddo" Sam stood up and the pulled his wet button down away from his chest. "Oooh, Jamie tears."

Jamie laughed and it sounded like music to Sam's ears. "I screwed up another shirt."

Then he added thoughtfully, "Between you and Gramps, I'm never gonna get done laundry this week."

End.


End file.
